The door opened, and Charles strode in. For a man who usually carried himself with composed authority, his unease was unmistakable. His eyes swept the room immediately, landing on Chris’s battered form before snapping to Eva. “Eva,” he said sharply, crossing the room in long strides. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head quickly. “I’m okay,” she said, then corrected herself. “Mostly. Chris—he—” “I know,” Charles said, his voice softening as he placed his hands on her shoulders, inspecting her carefully. Relief flickered across his face when he found no serious injuries. “Thank God.” Her throat tightened. “He saved me. He got there just in time.” Charles closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. When he looked back at Chris, something dark and dangerous passed through his gaze. Gratitude, yes—but also fury at the cost. The doctor cleared his throat. “Mr. White, I’m going to need the room cleared. Master Chris requires complete rest.” Eva stiffened immediately. “I’ll stay.” Charles hesit

A day later, Chris woke to silence. Not the eerie, suffocating silence of unconsciousness—but the gentle, familiar quiet of home. Soft sheets cradled his body. The faint scent of polished wood and clean linen lingered in the air. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, painting warm streaks of gold across the ceiling. For a few seconds, he simply stared upward, blinking slowly. …My room? The realization came with confusion rather than relief. His body felt heavy, as if gravity had doubled overnight. A dull ache pulsed through his ribs, his arm throbbed beneath layers of bandages, and every breath reminded him that he’d been pushed well past his limits. Still, compared to the last thing he remembered—blood, pain, Mason’s twisted grin—it was… peaceful. Too peaceful. His brows furrowed as fragmented memories surfaced. Eva’s scream. Mason’s grip. The burning fury that had drowned out everything else. Then darkness. How long was I out? As if summoned by the thou

The door closed behind him, and for a brief moment, laughter lingered in the air—soft, disbelieving, almost fragile. Then the room settled again. Chris shifted slightly against the pillows, his expression sobering as he turned his attention to Ethan. “What about Mason?” The name carried no heat now. No fury. Just a need for finality. Ethan straightened. “Cara transported him to the Crimson Legion headquarters shortly after you arrived here. He’s been placed in their highest-security prison—isolated, monitored, and restrained.” “No loopholes?” Chris asked quietly. “None,” Ethan said firmly. “He’ll never be a problem again. Not to you. Not to Eva. Not to the White family.” Chris exhaled, a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Something inside him loosened—not triumph, not satisfaction, but relief. “Good,” he said. He glanced around the room then—at Amanda hovering near Eva, at Elliot standing near the window, at Ethan waiting silently. “Please,” Chris sai

The evening settled gently over the White family mansion, bringing with it a rare sense of calm. The chaos of the past days had finally receded, leaving behind a quiet that felt earned rather than fragile. Warm lights glowed through tall windows, and the dining room—grand as ever—felt softer tonight, less like a place of strategy and power and more like a space meant for family. Dinner had been prepared carefully, with dishes chosen to be light and comforting rather than extravagant. Eva sat at the table beside Chris, her posture relaxed, though his hand remained subtly close to hers, as if either of them might reach out at any moment without thinking. Across from them sat Elliot and Amanda. Amanda had been unusually quiet since they arrived, her usual easy chatter replaced by a barely contained energy that made her shift in her seat more than once. Eva noticed, of course. She always did. Amanda barely touched her food, glancing between Eva and Chris, then at Elliot, who looked com